A Volte il Cor S'inerpica
by resauthor
Summary: Sometimes the heart wanders in fantasy - and sometimes the star of that fantasy is the best friend and partner whose trust you would never violate. This story picks up at the end of "Kill Shot." As always (it seems) mild sexual situations and content. P.S. I love Interrogation Room 3 (IR3) with the heat of a thousand suns.


**Author's notes:** With a concept clearly inspired by the fantasy segments in the episode, Partners Part 2, this story picks up at the end of Kill Shot and travels down its own unique road. Such an interesting time in their evolving relationship. This is not an attempt to rewrite their history, it's just a fun little "what if?" Quote below is something I once heard in a song and immediately thought of our duo.

**A Volte il Cor S'inerpica**

**in Far di Fantasia**

**_"Sometimes the heart_**

**_Wanders in fantasy"_**

**by: resauthor**

**Chris Lorenzo couldn't remember** a time in his life when he hadn't felt completely at home near the ocean. Even as a child, he had been drawn here, celebrating victories and milestones at the shore, finding inner peace whenever the rest of his life was in chaos.

Walking across the sand now, dressed for work in a light-weight suit and a collarless shirt, he gazed past the gentle, rolling waves, and focused on the horizon. The weather had been warm lately but not hot, and the morning sky was clear with barely a trace of clouds drifting across the heavens. Just another beautiful day in sunny, southern Florida.

Lilting feminine laughter drew his attention away from the inspiring vista and back to the two women walking just ahead of him. He followed them up the white wooden staircase to the street above. A van was waiting there for Tia, ready to whisk her and her teammates to the next stop on their promotional volleyball tour.

"I could never thank you guys enough," Tia said, turning around as she stepped onto the asphalt road and waited for the Palm Beach duo to join her. Although her short visit had been marred by violence and murder, she seemed hesitant to say goodbye.

Chris spoke up quickly to put her at ease. "You being safe and on top of your game is thanks enough."

"That's right," Rita agreed, smiling. "So… where are you guys going next on your tour?"

"California!" Tia's eyes sparkled with anticipation.

"Really?"

"Movie stars," Tia continued, "the best players in the world. There's room for one more on the bus if you want to go." The comment had been lobbed directly at Chris and all three of them knew it.

"Well," he blustered, knowing Rita was watching him with amused interest." I appreciate the offer, but I don't think I can get the time off."

"Well, we all know the real reason." Tia's teasing grin took in both partners, but Chris was the only one squirming. "Thanks again," she added.

"Kick butt," was all he could think to say. He smiled affectionately as the tall, beautiful blonde embraced him, marveling at how much she had grown up in the last fifteen years. As soon as he let go of her, she turned to Rita and the two women hugged.

It was only natural to remain at his partner's side when Tia walked away. The young volleyball player turned to wave one last time before disappearing into the van.

Rita called out a final farewell. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"See ya, Sport," Chris added and then corrected himself. "I mean, Tia." He counted backwards from ten in his head, patiently awaiting what was bound to come next.

"So, ah, what's the real reason? I'm dying to know."

The departing van was forgotten as Chris turned to his best friend. Admittedly, if the shoe had been on the other foot, he would have asked the same question. Curious green eyes stared directly into his. There was something different about Rita lately, but he hadn't yet been able to figure out what. It went deeper than her looks, although he had always considered her a knock-out. In her simple black dress and pastel pink jacket, today was no different. The sun was doing amazing things to the highlights in her hair.

He cleared his throat and offered a self-conscious smile. "She has this crazy idea that the two of us are together."

"Us? As in 'you and me'?" The green eyes widened in surprise. "What would give her an idea like that?"

"She says it's something about the way we look at each other."

His voice dropped away as he found himself staring again. He held his breath. "Ridiculous," he muttered, confused by his disappointment in her reaction. Where had that come from?

"Crazy..." Rita blushed and turned away, only to turn back a half second later.

"Crazy," Chris repeated the word without thinking. A queer, nervous feeling stirred to life in the pit of his stomach. People often mistook them for a romantic couple when they went out to dinner or a movie, but he could never remember feeling uncomfortable about it before.

"That's crazy."

"Stupid." This could go on forever, he thought to himself. Especially if they were both waiting for the other to delve deeper into an area of their relationship that suddenly felt taboo.

Rita was the first to change the subject. "Why don't I give you a ride back to the shop."

Chris followed her lead and shook off the strange mood as he pointed out his new purchase parked across the street. The all-encompassing search for the perfect new vehicle had been the topic of many conversations lately so they were back on familiar, and more importantly, safe ground.

* * *

Ninety minutes of pre-trial work with George Donovan, the Assistant District Attorney for Palm Beach, was a test of any detective's patience, Chris decided. Not that he had anything against George, the man had become a valued friend over the years, but court work was not Chris' favorite part of the job. His thoughts were soon wandering down a familiar path...

Rita.

She was lucky to have escaped all involvement in the Walton case. The murder-for-money crime had taken place while she was vacationing for a few days on Sanibel Island and a suspect had been arrested less than twenty-four hours later. Chris rubbed his temples, oddly disturbed by a sudden mental vision of his partner stretched out on a beach towel. The events of the morning had been long and tedious, maybe if he closed his eyes for a few moments.

A slamming door startled Chris back to an uneasy awareness of his surroundings. He was standing alone in the hallway just outside of the homicide department. This was not the main corridor that ended at the swinging, palm tree festooned doors, but a smaller one with access to all of the numbered interrogation rooms. Had he wandered out here to find Rita?

Interrogation room one was just to his right, but he walked right past it, somehow knowing exactly where he would find her.

His knuckles landed with a sharp staccato rap. Interrogation Room 3, the precisely placed black lettering declared. He didn't bother to wait for a response before turning the knob and sticking his head inside. Rita was standing next to the table where their suspects usually sat, paging through a file. She had removed her jacket. Reluctant interest flickered across his face. The black dress he had thought of as simple and understated just that morning, now seemed surprisingly short and borderline indecent, clinging to womanly curves he had no business noticing.

Rita looked up as soon as she realized he was standing there. "Come on in," she beckoned. "Thanks for meeting me here."

He glanced around the small interrogation room. They were alone. "You ready for lunch yet, Sam? It's getting late." Rita started walking towards him with a strange look in her eyes, prompting him to ask, "What's up?"

"I should be asking you that."

"Excuse me?" Chris stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Slim fingers closed around his upper arms and he swallowed hard, barely managing to mutter, "What's going on here, Sam?"

"You know."

Her delicate features had softened into an expression he dare not examine too closely. Was this a joke? Because if it was, it certainly wasn't funny. A gentle hand cupped the side of his face and he closed his eyes, shocked by the immediate surge of desire that swept through his veins. He had to be reading the situation all wrong, there was no other explanation for it. And yet, he made no move to stop her. Soft lips pressed against the side of his jaw and a moan escaped past gritted teeth.

This would be a good time to push her away and demand an explanation, but before he could formulate a coherent sentence, he felt her hands move across his chest and slide under his jacket. The blood drained out of his head as it rushed to his groin. "Sam." The nickname was wrenched from a throat that had tightened with emotion.

"Don't talk," his partner-turned-vixen whispered breathlessly in his ear. Her hands closed over his belt buckle and she bit his earlobe, ignoring his surprised gasp.

Something inside of Chris snapped. He grabbed her shoulders and spun her around, pinning her against the nearest wall with an echoing thud. Guilt and conscience be damned, he thought, crushing his mouth against hers, thrusting his tongue between her lips. But if he had hoped to somehow take control of the situation, it was a strategic mistake. Tasting her this intimately was like tasting fire; hot and wild, spiraling them both towards an even greater need for satisfaction.

Chris' jacket was pushed from his shoulders, forcing him to let go of her for a moment as it slid down his arms. Soft breasts and hardened nipples pressed through the layers of their clothing, imprinting themselves on his chest as Rita continued her mission to seduce him. As if he needed any encouragement. Years of self-control were forgotten in an instant. He continued the assault on her lips, lost in the sweetness of her mouth as his hands tightened over her thighs. He never thought to question her lack of intimate apparel.

Rita cradled the back of his head with her hands, keeping him close. "We both want this," she whispered huskily, trailing kisses along the side of his jaw. "You can't deny it."

Deny it? She thought he would try and DENY it? He groaned, painfully aroused and needing to thrust forward as he had never needed to do anything else in his entire life before. His hands slid up her legs, pushing the hem of her dress to her waist. He sought to pleasure her, touching her in a way that nearly stopped his own heart. "Rita," he ground out desperately. They were both beyond ready as she struggled with his belt.

The air rushed out of his lungs in a frantic burst when a delicate hand closed around his hardened length. His world had narrowed down to just the two of them and the blinding eroticism brought on by her touch. She guided him towards her until he was poised at the entrance of her body. Holding his breath, he waited for her to make the final move that would change their lives forever. Beads of sweat broke out across his forehead.

"Chris?" Her voice was oddly calm for such a momentous occasion. His brain signaled his mouth to speak, to ask what was wrong, but before he could respond, she added, "I think we should talk to the Captain about this."

"What?" he choked out, still dazed. One of his hands continued to trail down the back of her thigh, coaxing her leg around his waist. His body cried out for her and only her, desperate for the ultimate intimacy between a man and a woman. They were so very close, and this felt so very right. It should have happened years ago.

"The Captain," Rita repeated a little more forcefully. "Are you okay?"

A familiar hand, a hand he had thought was occupied elsewhere, clamped down on his shoulder, forcing him back to reality. Startled blue eyes widened with shock first and then quickly scanned the department, purposely avoiding any contact with the woman standing behind his chair. He struggled to sit up a little straighter, but found himself undeniably uncomfortable.

"Is everything okay?" his partner asked again, tilting her head to one side and staring at him curiously. "I was just suggesting that we take the Carlisle file in to the Captain and get his advice."

Chris could feel a mortified flush rising up from his neck to color his cheeks. Everything was 'okay' as long as she didn't mind being the star of her partner's latest sex fantasy. What in the world was he doing, violating her trust this way? "You go on ahead," he suggested hoarsely, "I'll be right in."

Rita watched him a few seconds longer and then nodded. "If you're sure you're all right."

"Yeah, I am. I have a slight headache," he explained without meeting her eye. Honesty was not an option in his present condition, nor was facing her without acute embarrassment. As soon as she stepped away, he reached down and tried to readjust himself. His body was still painfully hard, obviously functioning under the impression that the events of his R-rated fantasy had actually taken place. Shame and guilt were not emotions he was used to, or comfortable dealing with, but he was drowning in them now. His love life may have been nothing to write home about since Jillian's departure, but that was no reason to take it out on Rita.

"Hey, Lorenzo! You coming in here sometime today?"

Chris buttoned his jacket as he rose from his chair. How had he ever sunk to this level? "I'll be right in, Cap."

As he took his usual seat in the private office, it was impossible to decide what disturbed him more, the overwhelming guilt brought on by his little daydream or the last remnants of desire that refused to disappear no matter how desperately he tried to ignore them. Unconsciously focusing on his partner's mouth when she turned to ask him a question, forbidden parts of his over-stimulated body ended the debate. His inane response to a question he hadn't really heard resulted in a confused glance from his partner and a raised eyebrow from his boss. "Headache," he muttered, hoping the excuse would buy him enough time to pull himself together.

* * *

**Rita pushed her salad plate aside** and glanced at her partner across the restaurant table. He looked a little bit better now that he had eaten, but he was still uncommonly quiet. "How is the head?"

A startled look passed over Chris' face, but disappeared quickly. He reached for his water glass and took a long sip before answering. "Much better now."

Rita reached across and felt his forehead, frowning when he jumped at her touch. "You aren't warm, but maybe you're coming down with something."

"No, I don't think so. I feel a hundred percent better already," he said. "I apologize for not being more help in the meeting today."

The lunch crowd had thinned out to just a handful of people, making the small Italian restaurant much more private than usual. "Would you like to talk about it?" she offered. Something at the office had disturbed him, that much was obvious, but why he insisted on keeping it to himself remained unclear. An annoying inner voice reminded her that there had been only one unusual event that day. "I hope you aren't harboring any regrets about Tia. You did the right thing."

Chris seemed surprised by her comment. The corners of his mouth turned up. "By not leaving for California with her?"

"No, you know what I'm talking about. It was pretty obvious that she wanted a relationship with you, and I think you were wise to restrain yourself." She cringed inwardly at the sound of her own patronizing tone. If she wasn't careful, she was going to end up sounding like his mother instead of his best friend.

"So that's what you think I was doing? Restraining myself?" Chris played with his fork, his eyes avoiding hers as he spoke.

It was not the response or the attitude that she would have expected from him. "What is with you today?" she asked bluntly. "You know I didn't mean it that way. Tia happens to be young, athletic, and beautiful. Based on past history, she's exactly your type."

He looked up at her now, all the humor gone from his expression. "I don't have a 'type'."

The conversation had somehow gotten completely off track and Chris was interpreting her comments as criticisms. This would be the perfect time to change the subject, but a strong streak of stubbornness won out over caution. "Oh, come on, Sam. How long have we been friends?"

"Maybe I had a 'type' once, but I'd like to think I've matured past such thinking." After a long pause, he added, "Jillian was nothing like Tia."

Just the mention of that woman's name made the hairs on the back of Rita's neck stand up. She was tired of watching him mope around and tempted to straighten him out with a few home truths, but after a year of diplomatic silence she hesitated to start trouble now. "Is Jillian the only reason you turned Tia down?"

"It's over between Jillian and me. I've told you that a dozen times already."

"I know, I know, but you haven't dated much since she left town and maybe I'm a little worried about you, Chris. Can't one friend worry about another?"

"I'd prefer that you not worry about my love life. It's strictly off limits."

She blinked twice and sat up stiffly against the back of her chair. It would be foolish to allow this temporary bad mood of his to hurt her feelings. After a short pause, she fired back with a casual, "Since when?"

"Since now."

The stern set of his features assured her that he meant what he said, so she shrugged her shoulders and removed the cloth napkin from her lap. "If you say so."

Rita signaled their waiter for the bill. If her partner wanted her to stay out of his personal life, that was exactly what she was going to do. How had Jillian managed to affect him so deeply? Tia might have been right when she claimed Chris' heart was not free, but the object of his affections was not his partner as the young volleyball player assumed, but his former girlfriend instead. "Let's get out of here," she suggested, suddenly anxious to get the day over with.

* * *

Back at her apartment later that evening.

Rita entered her darkened bedroom and set her water glass down on the night stand. A warm breeze blew in through the open window, filtering itself through white floor length sheers that billowed silently in the moonlight. The bed covers had already been turned back, cool cotton sheets promising a welcome escape from the complications of her day. She hesitated before turning in. Something felt amiss. There was a heaviness to the air as if her eyes were not the only pair scanning the small room. A quick glance around revealed nothing out of place.

Moving closer to the windowsill, she surveyed the ground below. All was quiet under the faint glow of street lamps. Heightened senses instinctively sought something to fear, but found only a strange, nervous anticipation. Her pulse quickened and she waited, but the silence remained undisturbed. Determined to relax, she lay down on the bed, turning her back to the window. It was late, she reminded herself sternly, and tomorrow promised to be another busy day.

"We all know the real reason." The words blew in as if carried by the breeze, gently ruffling her hair before dissipating into nothingness.

"What?" Rita mumbled groggily. The bare skin of her shoulders tingled as if they too had been touched by the comment. Her movements were restless atop the crisp cotton bedding.

"We all know the real reason."

There it was again, that voice, and this time it was accompanied by a caress. Nothing overt or frightening, just a light pressure passing between her shoulder blades.

"We all know."

"Go away," Rita ordered sleepily, rolling onto her stomach and hugging her pillow tighter.

"You know." The voice taunted her now, the words wrapping themselves around her upper body like an ardent lover.

"No." Eyes shut tight, face buried against her pillow, she shook her head. The pressure returned, applying itself around her upper arms, encouraging her to turn over, but she resisted.

"It's time. Past time. "The urgent whisper fluttered across her spine from lips no more than a hair's width above her skin. Her arms were freed as hands, warm human hands, slid under the thin, delicate straps of her gown, pushing them from her shoulders. Her breasts felt heavy and overly sensitized. Hardened nipples grew flushed and peaked, pressing into the mattress.

Rita bit her lower lip, drawing blood as she tried to force herself awake, but the sensual allure of the dream was too great. Nerve endings hummed under a masculine touch that was just firm enough to leave each inch of skin yearning for more the moment he moved on. And move on he did. His hands were everywhere, molding themselves to her back and spine, spanning themselves across the narrow width of her waist, cradling her curves through the filmy folds of her nightdress.

She tried to remain silent, but a whimper slipped out when those same hands glided across the backs of her thighs.

"You know," the disturbingly familiar voice insisted again.

"Don't," she begged. She did not want him to talk. To contemplate crossing this line even in her dreams was to risk losing him. After all she had been through in her life; it was too high a price. She rolled over on her side again, wrapping a pillow around her head, hoping to silence the voice, but her strategy didn't work.

"Look at me."

The words had not been spoken aloud, yet the compelling request echoed clearly in her mind. Her cheeks felt a phantom caress, her eyes flew open, and she rolled on to her back, pinned to the sheets by the intensity of his gaze. "She said it was in the way we look at each other," she murmured.

"Yes."

"But this isn't right…" her words were cut off as he leaned closer. She closed her eyes. A wealth of complicated emotions had been simmering between them for so long, the minute his mouth touched hers it was like a flame to dry brush. Shock was her first reaction. Pure lust was her second. The kiss deepened, their tongues tangled, and she writhed under him, moaning. Her hands slid over the smooth bare skin of his shoulders. The muscles shifted and flexed under her trembling fingertips. He touched her legs and they parted instinctively, making room for him to move in between. He touched her breasts and they swelled to fit his palms. "Make love to me, Chris."

The moment his name passed over her lips, she regretted it. Fear, self-doubt, and caution were longtime friends who knew how to make themselves at home.

Chris must have felt it too, because he broke off the kiss and stared directly into her eyes.

"I can't do this," she cried, her breathing ragged. Chris shook his head softly, his expression one of regret as he backed away from the bed. His appearance changed as quickly as the mood in the room. No longer shirtless, he wore a white, beautifully tailored suit and a shirt the exact color of his eyes. Her heart surged with pride and longing; her mind flooded with second thoughts. Why deny herself? Why take the chance of him finding another Jillian and moving out of her life? She would be a fool to let him leave.

"Where are you going?" she called out, sitting up in bed, reaching out to try and stop him. But it was too late, he was already too far away.

His gaze remained locked with hers, blue eyes clearly visible despite the fact that he was fading from sight. "One day soon, you will have to believe."

Rita continued to stare across the room long after Chris had completely disappeared. Arms wrapped around her legs, head resting on bent knees, she struggled with a sudden, overwhelming, sense of loss. Had caution and fear cost her the most important relationship in her life?

Startled awake by her alarm, Rita rolled over to hit the snooze button before returning to lie on her back. She opened one eye at a time, squinting against the bright sunlight streaming in through the open mini blinds. Running a hand over her face, she felt a surprising dampness on her cheeks. The dream came back to her slowly - the memory of her response to his touch, the agony of unfulfilled desires, the eventual sadness when she was once again all alone. Glancing down at her cotton T-shirt, she flushed and brought her fingers to her lips.

"Oh my God," she groaned. This was all Tia's fault. The young girl's comments had somehow found their way into her subconscious thoughts.

The bedside phone rang, and she answered with a hesitant, "Lance."

"I'm just getting ready to leave the loft," Chris informed her, sounding obnoxiously cheerful at such an early hour. "Why don't I pick you up on my way in?"

"No!" She needed time to think, to find some type of rational perspective regarding the dream and all of the emotional responses it had triggered.

Chris laughed as he asked, "You okay?"

"Yes, yes. Of course." Rita ran a shaky hand through her hair and fumbled for an excuse. "I just didn't sleep well last night."

"Insomnia again, Sam?" He was all concern now.

"No, not this time." She wasn't about to go into any details. "I'll meet you at the shop. I wouldn't want to slow you down."

"I don't mind waiting. I'll let myself in and start the coffee while you're dressing."

"Chris," she interrupted impatiently, "I'll meet you at the shop."

There was a long pause before her partner and best friend spoke up again. "If you've got company there, Sam, all you have to do is say so."

"I don't have company," she snapped, knowing her tone was turning hostile, but too tired to make up any additional explanations. Chris wasn't exactly acting like himself either. He was usually much more sensitive to her moods. "I'll see you at work," she added.

"Yeah, sure, Sam. I'll see you at the shop."

The call was disconnected on his end first, reminding Rita of the way he had disappeared in her dream. Regret was becoming an all too familiar emotion.

* * *

**Chris glanced at the empty seat** across from him. How long could it possibly take to retrieve a file from the interrogation room? Rita had not been acting like herself all morning and he was beginning to suspect she was avoiding him. But dammit, why would she be doing that when he had already apologized for his grouchy behavior the day before?

Lost in thought, he was mindlessly tapping a pencil on his blotter when Captain Lipschitz approached his desk.

"Come to any conclusions yet?"

"Huh?" The pencil froze midway through its upward arc.

"Something tells me you weren't thinking about the Carlisle case just now."

Chris took a deep breath and glanced toward the swinging doors. Still no sign of Rita. "No, I guess I wasn't."

"Care to talk about it?"

"Nothing to talk about, Cap." Sitting up straighter in his chair, Chris tugged on the lapels of his dark blue jacket and brushed a speck of lint from his slacks. A quick change of subject was in order. "Rita should be back any minute with the file."

"How did the interview with the brother go?"

"Fine." He knew his answer lacked enthusiasm, but dammit, he was tired of feeling like a rat in a lab experiment. "His alibi is solid, which is what we expected. As soon as Rita returns, we're off to get a statement from Carlisle's personal trainer. He runs a fitness place over on Ocean Street."

"I want an update this afternoon."

Chris' nod was brief, his sigh of relief silent, as Harry disappeared into his office. Any hope that he was imagining the tension between himself and Rita was now gone. Even the captain had picked up on it, which meant it was time to take action. They had been friends too long to tiptoe around each other this way.

Chris entered the hallway leading to the interrogation rooms and paused. The sensation of Deja vu was nearly overwhelming. He stepped to the side, allowing a pair of uniformed officers and their handcuffed suspect to walk past, all the while focusing on one door in particular. It was slightly ajar. Inching closer, he held his breath and pushed it inward. "Rita?"

He exhaled slowly. Although she was standing near the wooden table, her appearance was all wrong - or all right - depending on how he chose to look at it. In fact, taking in her tan slacks and plaid vest, he felt a fresh wave of guilt over his mind's previous wanderings.

"Is something wrong?" Rita asked, her voice full of concern. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"No," he stammered, trying to hide his embarrassment, "but you've been gone almost half an hour. I was beginning to think you were lost." Rita sent him a curious look as he let go of the door and started walking towards her.

"I found the file." She closed the brown folder and handed it to him when he reached her side. "Are you ready to hit the road?"

"Sure." Had she always used that intriguing shade of red on her lips? File in hand, he waved it in her direction as he blurted out, "You know, Sam, you've been acting a little strange all morning."

"Me?"

"I apologized for yesterday. How long are you going to keep me on the hook for a few stupid remarks?" If he could have taken the question back the second after it slipped out, he would have. "Forget it," he threw in before she had a chance to answer, "we need to get going."

"Oh no you don't, buster." Rita grabbed his arm, dashing any hopes for a quick escape. "You aren't going to lay all this on me. You're the one who has been acting strange since yesterday, and don't think for one minute that I buy all that 'Jillian in Boston' nonsense. If you have a problem with me, I wish you would just spit it out so we can deal with it."

Guilt gnawed at the edges of his conscience. His voice was a mere whisper as he tried to assure her, "I don't have a problem with you, Sam."

**Damn, damn, damn!** Rita immediately regretted the Jillian comment. She was going to end up sounding like an insensitive shrew if she didn't watch her tongue around him.

"I apologize, Chris," she muttered, flustered and desperately searching for some small measure of her usual calm composure. She ran a hand over the sleeve of his jacket, attempting to erase the wrinkles left behind by her callous actions. The muscles under her fingers flexed and hardened. She raised her eyes slowly to his.

He called to her softly, his voice hesitant and rough, "Sam?"

Rita forced herself to look away, dropping her glance to his mouth, afraid of what she would discover in the searching blue eyes that had so recently haunted her dreams. The Carlisle file landed with a loud thud on the interview table behind her. Familiar hands closed around her upper arms, drawing her closer. The scent of his aftershave made it impossible to think straight.

"What are you…" her question trailed off; her breath stolen by the mouth that hovered mere inches from her own. She shied away self-consciously, hiding her expression, afraid he would read what was so clearly written on her soul.

"You know..." His rough whisper - an echo straight out of her fantasies - stunned her, which allowed his mouth to finally catch hers.

His lips were soft, his breath sweetened by his morning coffee. Desire slammed through her with a force she had not felt in ages, if ever. It left her weak-kneed and breathless. His tongue swept across her parted lips, demanding a response. This was wrong, she tried to remind herself, not to mention dangerous and foolish, but it was too late. She closed her eyes and started kissing him back.

"Hey, Lorenzo! Don't forgot to ask this guy about…"

The Captain's voice was more effective than a bucket of ice water. The door to the interrogation room swung open and although Chris took an immediate step backwards and dropped his hands to his sides, it was not in time to prevent Harry Lipschitz from seeing where he, and they, had been.

"What the hell is going on in here?" their boss demanded from the doorway, hands on his hips.

"Chris?" Rita hissed through gritted teeth. Her lips were still tingling as she tried to snap Chris out of the temporary state of shock he appeared to have fallen into. He had been standing with his back to the door, hopefully blocking enough of their actions to allow them to talk their way out of this. Her clear view of the Captain's expression was not very encouraging. What had once felt like a dream now had the potential to become a real nightmare.

The Captain closed the door and turned back to face them.

Chris still hadn't moved or said a word, so Rita shifted her stance and brought the spiked heel of her left shoe down sharply onto his foot.

"Hey, Cap!" Chris snapped into action, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his slacks, greeting the Captain loudly as he turned.

Rita plastered a smile on her face, and forced herself to remain calm as they waited to find out just how much trouble they were actually in.

Harry walked towards the table slowly, pointing an accusing finger at both homicide detectives. "Somebody please tell me I did not just see what I think I saw."

Chris was still struggling with his own reactions to what had just taken place, making the confusion in his voice genuine when he asked, "What are you talking about, Cap?"

"Don't give me that, Lorenzo," Harry shot back immediately. "When I opened that door a second ago, you two were…"

"What, Captain?" Rita was the picture of innocence, staring at her boss with a perplexed expression.

Harry wavered, suddenly uncertain. "It looked like you two were…"

Rita took a step forward. "Having a private conversation?"

**Chris' eyes darted from the Captain to Rita,** and then back again. His partner was good. Very good. Heck, the serene expression on her face had him halfway convinced that the kiss never happened. But it had. And he could still see a little telltale moisture on her bottom lip… her lips… his moisture... oh, God…

"Lorenzo!"

Startled, Chris turned his full attention back to his boss.

"Your partner is trying to tell me that there was nothing funny going on in here, but I'm not convinced. Would you like to take a stab at it?"

Emboldened by said partner's calm demeanor and expert handling of the situation, Chris checked his watch and started for the door. "Relax, Cap. Rita and I were trying to work out a few differences. We're best friends. We've been partnered forever. No reason to get worked up now." He shifted his attention to the woman by his side. "We need to get going if we want to catch Carlisle's personal trainer in between appointments."

Rita took the hint and followed, keeping her eyes averted as she passed the Captain.

"We're not done talking about this," Harry called out just before they slipped out of the room. Hands on his hips once more, he managed to get in one final parting shot. "You two know the rules!"

Chris paused in the doorway, and turned, somehow finding the inner strength needed to ignore Rita when she bumped into him and grabbed his waist to steady herself. Oh yeah, he knew the rules. Not trusting himself to speak, he simply nodded.

Harry's expression softened, his eyes narrowing in concern as he studied the duo. "Go on, get out of here," he ordered. He followed them to the door and continued to watch their progress down the hallway.

"Sam?" Chris dared not look at her as they walked. The Captain's eyes were boring a hole into the back of his head, and probably hers, too.

"Not here, Chris."

"We need to talk about this." Once they reached the end of the hallway, he pushed open the door that led to the parking lot, and allowed her to pass through ahead of him. The silence continued until they reached a department issue sedan. Chris held open the passenger door. "We need to talk about this," he repeated quietly. But she slipped into the car without meeting his gaze. His heart sank. He had stepped over the lines of friendship, offending the one person in the world that meant more to him than life itself. How could he even begin to set this right?

* * *

**Calm and disinterested** as she might appear on the outside, Rita Lance was in complete panic mode. Oh sure, they had kissed before. Kissed and then some, but even the simulated sex for the surveillance cameras and the hour-long tongue-down-your-throat-gee-partner-I-see-you-still-have-your-tonsils soul kisses during past undercover assignments, did not guarantee her full immunity to her partner's considerable charms.

The car made a sharp right turn and Rita braced her hands on the dashboard, shooting a worried glance in Chris' direction. He was all concentration as he pulled into the large parking lot of Palm Beach's trendiest new fitness center. As soon as they came to a stop, he switched off the ignition and turned sideways in his seat.

"Chris…"

"No, wait, before you say anything, Rita, I need you to hear me out."

"This isn't necessary." She wanted to explain that the entire situation had been just as much her fault as it was his, but he was too busy trying to apologize.

"Maybe it was this thing with Tia all week, or maybe I'm not as straight as I thought about the Jillian issue. I don't know. But it wasn't fair of me to take advantage of our friendship that way."

Rita digested his comments slowly, not quite sure how to respond. She was having a difficult time herself trying to figure out how and why their relationship was suddenly changing. If he wanted to pretend that Tia or Jillian had something to do with what had happened, she was in no position to argue. But whether they were both ready to admit it or not, their relationship was changing, and in their own unique ways, they were both running scared.

She reached for his left hand and took it firmly in hers. "It was just a kiss, Chris. Relax." He was still her best friend. Any problem was fixable if they faced it together. Her faith in him was absolute. "Pretend it was all a dream," she suggested.

Chris brought their joined hands to his lips, placing a quick kiss on the back of hers. He laughed, responding with, "That might not be such a good idea, Sam."

Rita watched him curiously. His eyes had taken on a mysterious glint and he was starting to look a little flushed. "Having bad dreams lately?"

"No, I wouldn't say that." Chris seemed about to say more when he stopped short and leaned closer to the windshield. "Isn't that Alex Carlisle?"

Rita followed Chris' stare and easily spotted the man they had interrogated just a few short hours ago at the station house. "Yes, and if I'm not mistaken, he's talking to the man we're supposed to be interviewing right about now." Her hand was released abruptly.

"Scott Waters," Chris muttered, halfway out the driver's side door.

Rita was out of the vehicle a fraction of a second after Chris, running to keep up with his longer strides.

The rest of the day was spent working diligently on the troublesome Carlisle case. Interviews were conducted, leads were investigated, and a full report was given to Captain Lipschitz before either detective was allowed to go home. Much to Rita's profound relief, the incident in Interrogation Room 3 was never mentioned. And if the Captain had any further questions or suspicions about what had actually taken place between his two detectives, thankfully, he kept them to himself.

* * *

It was almost eight o'clock when Rita finally returned home to her apartment. Too wide awake to think about sleep, she made a cup of tea and settled herself on the couch. The living room was peaceful and dark, providing a safe sanctuary after a difficult day. As expected, her thoughts once again returned to "the kiss" and those surprising few moments in Chris' arms.

Unfortunately, reliving the experience over and over again in her head didn't bring her any closer to understanding Chris' motives or her own heated response to him. All it did do was make her blush.

She sighed and took a careful sip from the mug in her hand. Today's incident would have to be forgotten. There was no other way to handle it. What she shared with Chris was much more valuable than a love affair. The bond between them was stronger and more lasting.

In the past, it had always been enough.

The phone rang. Rita's hand shook. She carefully returned her mug to a coaster on the coffee table.

"Lance."

"Hey, Sam."

She closed her eyes and thought of a thousand different things she wanted to say to him before eventually settling on, "Hey."

"I'm still feeling a little funny about what happened today. Are we cool?"

"About the… uh…"

"The kiss… back at the shop."

"Oh." Did he think she had forgotten already?

"You know how important you are to me, Sam. I would never do anything to endanger that."

"I know, Chris. Don't worry about it. We're cool."

"Good. You know how guys are. Sometimes the head isn't working in sync with all the other parts."

"Wonderfully scientific analysis, Sam."

"I thought you'd appreciate that. Feel like catching a movie?"

Rita grimaced, grateful that he couldn't see the panicked look on her face. She ran a hand over the back of her neck, trying to rub away some of the tension. What she really needed was a massage, but that idea had to be squelched immediately.

"To tell you the truth, I'm a little tired tonight."

"Okay, no problem."

"Goodnight," she murmured.

Something in the tone of her voice must have caused him to worry again. "We are cool, right?" he asked one last time.

"We're cool," she assured him and heard an audible sigh of relief. He had obviously been afraid she would take his actions too seriously. She rushed to fill the awkward silence, "Things just got a little out of hand. It's no big deal. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Out of hand… right. Sometimes that happens."

"Sometimes… it does."

Rita hung up first this time, eager to break the spell from her dream.

* * *

**Across town**, sitting on the wooden stairs in the middle of his loft, Chris Lorenzo stared at the small black cell phone in his hand. The conversation with Rita had not been very reassuring. She was still upset; he could hear it in her voice.

In all honesty, he was a little shook up himself. Rita was his best friend, his partner, undoubtedly the single most important person in his life, and yet, once past the initial shock of what had happened between them, he was amazed at how right it felt. He could still remember the sudden surge of emotion when she started kissing him back. It was heady, addicting - the world around them had simply disappeared. If the Captain hadn't walked in when he did…

But none of that mattered when measured against Rita's possible unhappiness and disappointment in him. Chris rose to his feet and climbed the remaining stairs to his bedroom. If she chose to arrive at work tomorrow and act as if nothing had happened, he would go along with her for now. But he would never forget. Ever.

Walking past the bathroom mirror on his way to the shower, the sight of his own somber expression made him pause. What was he so afraid of? One kiss was not going to damage their friendship. One little step over the line was not going destroy their working relationship. He stared into the cool blue eyes of his reflection. "Be careful with her heart," he warned, already knowing it was far too late to protect his own.

**The End**

**Classic Moments 1999**

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